


Bring It All Home

by little_librarian



Series: Wander Into My Heart [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Podfic Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22338856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_librarian/pseuds/little_librarian
Summary: Ciri and Jaskier will make the halls of Kaer Morhen echo with life this year, Geralt thinks. They will fill the fortress with laughter and song until it feels less like a crypt. Vesemir will tolerate it grudgingly, so long as training and chores still get done. Eskel will accept it quietly, Lambert will say he hates it just to be stubborn and contrary, and they will all spend the winter knowing love.(Geralt, Jaskier, and Ciri, from Sodden to Kaer Morhen)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Wander Into My Heart [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1607377
Comments: 68
Kudos: 2536
Collections: Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	Bring It All Home

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back, less than 24 hours later with 2300 more words. What is this fandom doing to me, send help
> 
> Picks up right where Fate of Choice ends.

As Yennefer steps through her portal, Geralt looks at the two people tucked against his sides. This degree of closeness, of being surrounded so completely by people who trust him and want to be near him, is entirely foreign to him, but he has a feeling he won’t be escaping it anytime soon. His future, at least for now, is written, and he finds that he doesn’t mind it as much as he would have before.

Ciri looks curiously at the bard, so Geralt says, “This is Jaskier. He’ll be traveling with us.”

Jaskier steps out of Geralt’s hold and gives Ciri a sweeping, dramatic bow. “One world-famous bard, at your service, Princess Cirilla.”

Ciri smiles, although it’s small and wavering. Geralt suspects that she won’t be in the mood for joy for a while yet, and hopes that Jaskier will be as good for her as he was for Geralt.

“Just Ciri, please,” she tells him.

“Ciri it is, then,” Jaskier agrees easily. He turns back to Geralt. “To Kaer Morhen, you said?”

“Kaer Morhen,” Geralt confirms. His gaze lingers on the bard. His clothes are still bloodied and torn, and, although Yen’s magic has healed his injuries, Geralt can’t help but see the ghosts of bruises and cuts on Jaskier’s skin. He’s glad that Jaskier doesn’t even try to protest going with them; Geralt doesn’t think he could let the bard out of his sight just now.

“We’ll need warmer clothes,” Jaskier states, and sets off walking.

“Wrong way, Jaskier,” Geralt calls.

Jaskier whirls around, purposefully ridiculous. Ciri huffs, barely enough to be a laugh, and Jaskier beams at her.

Yes, Geralt thinks, Jaskier will be good for them both.

***

Geralt can walk the fastest out of the three of them, and he wants to put as much distance as possible between them and Sodden, so he situates Jaskier and Ciri on Roach and leads them northeast. They travel through forests, for the most part, only returning to main roads when they must.

They’ll have to spend most of their nights outside. Geralt won’t risk venturing into towns unless absolutely necessary for fear of being recognized. Jaskier even agrees to limit his performances only to when they need coin.

Jaskier wastes no time teaching Ciri how to make puppy eyes at Geralt, and together they convince him to stop in one village before they bed down for the night. Jaskier spends all the coin Geralt will allow on clean, warm clothing for himself and Ciri, cloaks that can double as blankets, and two bedrolls.

“Only two?” Ciri asks.

“We’re low on coin,” Jaskier tells her. “Besides, it’s not like Geralt and I haven’t shared before.”

Geralt knows they could have bought another bedroll, but he doesn’t mention it. If Jaskier plans to spend every night asleep against Geralt’s chest, he certainly won’t complain.

They finally stop for the night to set up camp underneath a willow tree. The leaves hang low enough that, on the off chance anyone comes past, they should be fairly hidden from sight.

Ciri stays awake only long enough to eat the food that Jaskier had splurged on in town. Once she’s asleep, Geralt drags Jaskier to lie down with him, close enough that Jaskier can use Geralt’s chest as a pillow.

Geralt traces his fingers over Jaskier’s face, his neck, everywhere he remembers seeing an injury earlier today. Jaskier couldn’t breathe without flinching hours ago, and Geralt needs to reassure himself that Jaskier is truly all right now.

“Nilfgaard likes their torture,” Jaskier says. Geralt’s hand freezes on Jaskier’s back. “They thought I might know where to find you. I didn’t, of course, but they kept asking and I kept singing bad songs at them.” He sounds vaguely proud of himself, and all Geralt can do is hold him closer and silently promise death to Jaskier’s jailers.

Jaskier doesn’t let him brood for long. He props his chin on Geralt’s chest, looks him in the eyes, and says, “It was horrible, I won’t lie to you. But I bear none of it now. I am, for once in my life, grateful for Yennefer’s existence.”

“It won’t happen again,” Geralt vows.

“You can’t promise that,” Jaskier says. Geralt hates that he’s right, hates that Jaskier will suffer for loving him.

“You’re not to leave my sight again.” It’s unrealistic, but it’s easy to hope with Jaskier in his arms.

Jaskier chuckles. “Okay, Geralt. We can do that.”

Jaskier kisses first Geralt’s chin, then tilts his head further up to bring their lips together. They won’t go further than this, not with Ciri right there, but Geralt intends to take all that he can. He threads his hand through Jaskier’s soft hair, holds them together until Jaskier taps his chest for mercy. Jaskier breaks away breathless and laughing, then leans in for one more kiss before he eases back down to fall asleep with his ear over Geralt’s slow-beating heart.

Jaskier and Ciri have nightmares that night, as they will for nights to come. Geralt runs his hand over Jaskier’s hair and down his spine, presses kisses where his face wrinkles in discontent. When Ciri wakes and stares at them, tears in her eyes, Geralt beckons her over and offers her the same comfort.

***

Traveling with Jaskier and Ciri is far different from traveling with Jaskier alone. Geralt didn’t think that he could possibly worry more in dangerous moments when he has to draw a sword and fight, but here he is, trying to keep safe two people who regularly disregard their own safety.

Jaskier, at least, employs the same strategy during fights that he adopted years ago: he keeps his distance, dagger in hand in case anyone gets too close. Most human enemies dismiss him as a threat and focus on the witcher with the deadly sword, and Jaskier has learned to use that to his advantage. He jumps into the fray when Geralt gets overwhelmed, sinks his dagger into the nearest enemy and creates enough of a distraction for Geralt to end the fight. Geralt would rather see his bard safely up a tree, but he admits that Jaskier’s help is often critical.

Ciri, however, shows even less care for her own safety. She has no physical weapon of her own, but she often picks up weapons that bandits drop. The swords are far too big for her; she swings slowly with both hands on the hilt of a single-handed sword. She stands just outside the fight, closer than Jaskier dares, and hacks at anyone who steps out of Geralt’s reach. Geralt and Jaskier try to talk her out of it—Geralt nearly yells at her once because of how much he hates watching Ciri clean blood off her hands—but she is headstrong and unwavering.

Geralt caves halfway through their journey and buys Ciri a small sword while she and Jaskier are buying better boots. He presents the sword to her solemnly over the campfire and approves of how she accepts it with equal seriousness. He teaches her the proper way to hold her sword, how to swing and how best to defend against an attacker bigger and stronger than she is. In return, Geralt learns to incorporate her into his fighting style, pushing an enemy to where she stands on the outskirts when there are too many for him to handle alone. Ciri strikes at arms and legs, aiming to incapacitate but not kill, and Geralt takes small comfort in knowing that the blood on her hands is not the blood of death.

There’s a day when Geralt tries and fails to keep bandits away from his people, when Jaskier is cornered, when Geralt turns too slow and gets a blade through his shoulder, when Ciri panics and _screams_. 

It’s certainly effective: no one is left standing when Ciri stops screaming. But Geralt is hurled to the other side of the clearing, and the landing only makes his shoulder bleed more. He makes his way back to Ciri to find her crying, bending over Jaskier and wiping away the blood that trickles from his ears. Jaskier isn’t moving, and Geralt’s heart either speeds up or stops completely, he can’t tell, until he sees Jaskier’s chest rise with a slow, unconscious breath.

Geralt slings Jaskier over Roach’s saddle and walks with Ciri tucked against his side. They don’t stop until Geralt feels they’ve put enough distance between themselves and the demolished forest. He makes Ciri promise only to scream in absolute emergencies, when there’s nothing left for any of them to do. Her power is uncontrollable and leaves too much evidence, and Geralt knows that it will be Yennefer’s place to train Ciri to use it.

Jaskier doesn’t wake until after they’ve made camp and Geralt has talked Ciri through stitching up the gash in his shoulder. Geralt crowds into Jaskier’s space, waits for the bard to focus on him, and then rubs his fingers together right next to Jaskier’s left ear.

“Geralt, I’m _fine_ , what are you _doing_?” Jaskier protests. He knows Jaskier would complain more if Ciri were not standing just behind Geralt, watching anxiously.

Geralt holds him down with a hand on his chest and rubs his fingers together again. “Checking for hearing loss,” Geralt tells him, then repeats the process with Jaskier’s other ear. “Can you hear this?”

“Yes, I can hear your fingers just fine, _thank you_.”

Geralt lets Jaskier sit up at last, but keeps a hand on his chest just to feel his heartbeat.

Jaskier says, softer now, “I’m all right, Geralt. Really.” He picks up Geralt’s free hand and presses a kiss to his palm, maintaining eye contact all the while.

They sit like that, Geralt counting heartbeats and Jaskier just resting his lips against a calloused hand, until Ciri tires of waiting and throws herself into Jaskier’s lap, babbling apologies into his chest.

Ciri insists they sleep as a unit that night. She doesn’t give them a choice, really, just tucks herself against Jaskier, front to front, the second he lays down. Geralt curls around Jaskier’s back and stretches his arm across Jaskier so his hand rests on Ciri. Jaskier turns his head once they’re settled and kisses Geralt, light and lingering.

Ciri says, “Gross,” and Jaskier laughs against Geralt’s mouth while Geralt pinches Ciri’s side.

Jaskier hums them to sleep and Geralt, just for a second, lets himself believe in destiny.

***

They reach Kaer Morhen with the beginning of a snowstorm. Ciri, in front of Geralt in the saddle, reaches her hand out to the air. Her palm is cold enough that the snow doesn’t melt, and she delights in how the snowflakes retain their shapes in her hand. The snow catches and contrasts beautifully in Jaskier’s dark hair, and Geralt finds himself watching the bard more than the road.

Kaer Morhen looms in front of them in all its crumbling glory. Jaskier hums a new melody, low and haunting to match the decrepit stones. When Ciri hums it back to him, he says, “We’ll make a bard out of you yet! I can see it now: Cirilla the Singing Swordfighter!” He throws his arms wide like he’s on a stage, announcing her debut, and Ciri laughs at how ridiculous it is.

The two of them will make the halls of Kaer Morhen echo with life this year, will fill the fortress with laughter and song until it feels less like a crypt. Vesemir will tolerate it grudgingly, so long as training and chores still get done. Eskel will accept it quietly, Lambert will say he hates it just to be stubborn and contrary, and they will all spend the winter knowing love.

Inside, Vesemir suggests that Ciri and Jaskier take rooms on the ground floor, where warmth from the kitchen hearths leeches into nearby rooms, and he is instantly met with the oddity of two people who prefer being near a witcher.

“Where does Geralt sleep?” Ciri asks.

“The top of the tallest tower, no doubt,” Jaskier says, leaning close to her like he’s sharing a secret. “He knew, in the bottom of his cruel heart, that he’d one day get to torture us with all those stairs.”

“Second tallest tower,” Geralt says. He nudges Ciri towards the correct staircase, and she takes off at a run. The room beneath his has stood empty forever, and he knows that Ciri will choose that one.

“Oh, second tallest, that’s _so_ much better,” Jaskier mutters.

Geralt tries to send him after Ciri, but he only leans back into Geralt’s touch.

“I suppose you’ll want a room in that tower, too?” Vesemir asks, weary. He looks askance at Geralt’s hand low on Jaskier’s back but says nothing.

Jaskier sniffs. “Top of the tower will do,” he says and marches away without a backward glance.

Lambert, lurking in a corner, chokes.

“Guy’s got guts,” Eskel says from somewhere down the hall.

“He’s kicking you out of your room?” Vesemir asks. Geralt can tell he’s teasing by the way his tone is a bit lighter, by the way his voice turns up at the end of the sentence. Vesemir knows full well that isn’t what’s happening.

“No,” Geralt says.

Lambert chokes again, and Geralt resolutely ignores him as he follows Jaskier up the stairs.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whines, loud enough to carry. “I’m tired and it’s freezing up here.”

“I’m cold, too!” Ciri calls from her doorway.

“Then get up here!” Jaskier calls back. “This bed is _massive_ ; honestly, is this where all the cold witchers huddled for warmth?”

Geralt knows that they’ll have to devise a heating system for Ciri. Warm rocks in her bed, perhaps, and a fire strong enough to last the colder nights. Ciri can sleep with them tonight, but he and Jaskier won’t be able to tolerate Ciri sneaking into their room at random.

Behind him, Vesemir says, “Dear god.”


End file.
